What Is and What Should Never Be
by csjr
Summary: This is a series of 'What if' AU scenarios. They are not linked to each other but each looks at how things might have been under difference circumstances.


Clive watches as the remainder of the small bag of cocaine flutters over the stair banister, confusing the crowd below. "Jesus Christ, Martha," he hisses.

"That's why people like Mercedes Cordoba get screwed by everyone, so you can stick coke up your nose after a hard day in court!"

"Was it the wrong result?"

Martha stares at him. "You make me sick!" she spits, with an expression of disgust that he's rarely seen aimed at him.

"Was it the wrong result?" he repeats. "I don't know, maybe you just get in too close, Martha."

She pulls out her phone and starts pushing at the buttons. "What are you doing?" he asks. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Calling the police."

"Give me the phone," says Clive in his most reasonable tone. Martha puts the phone to her ear and for a second he worries that she's not bluffing. "Just give me the phone!" he snaps, lunging and grabbing the bottom of the Blackberry to tug it out of her grasp. She holds on until he manages to pull it out of her fingers. She grabs for it again but her foot slips and her heel slides out from under her. Clive goes to steady her but it's too late; with a cry she loses her balance and topples down the stairs, landing with a crash at the bottom, where she lies motionless. Momentarily frozen, Clive grips the banister and then runs down the stairs to where Martha is stirring.

"Martha- Marth, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

There is a commotion around them; people are murmuring and Billy is urgently pushing his way through the crowd. "Miss? Call an ambulance!" he shouts in Jake's direction.

Clive sits down next to Martha and pulls her against him. "It's alright. I'm sorry."

Martha presses his face against his shoulder. "I'm bleeding," she mumbles. Clive doesn't understand, but he holds on anyway.

* * *

The doctor places the monitor on Martha's stomach. Clive watches anxiously. Something blurry appears on the screen by the bed. Clive looks for a head or anything that resembles a person, but it's just a mess of unidentifiable shapes. How is anyone supposed to distinguish a baby from that?

"Is it okay?" Martha whispers. She's still holding Clive's hand, still visibly in pain. Clive thinks that he could kill Gary Rush for doing this to her.

The doctor is examining the screen carefully. Finally she straightens up with a smile. "You haven't miscarried."

Clive exhales with relief. "Are you sure?"

"Perfectly sure." She points to the screen. "Here's one baby... and here's the other."

It takes Clive a moment to register what she's just said. He looks at Martha, whose eyes are wide. "Twins?" she breathes.

"Congratulations, Miss Costello. Both your children are fine."

* * *

Clive checks his reflection in the rear-view mirror as he rides towards the Royal Courts of Justice. It had been Harriet's idea to have his Silk party at the biggest court in London. It must have cost a fortune.

Martha would still be in court right now, hearing the outcome of her appeal. Privately, Clive thought that she didn't have a hope of getting Johnny Foster off, but she had been adamant that the old man was innocent. If anyone could persuade the appeal judges, it was her.

He feels exhilarated as he turns the motorbike into the road adjacent to the court building. He's looking forward to walking in there, the guest of honour, but he's also looking forward to seeing Martha and hearing the details of her case. He loves her most when she's all fired up.

He's so preoccupied with his thoughts that he doesn't notice the car approaching to his left. Too late, he hears the screeching of brakes and is dimly aware of the impact of colliding with the much larger vehicle. Shocking really, that his beloved and expensive bike should be crushed so easily by that pile of rust.

As he lies among the wreckage, his last thought is to wonder whether Martha won her appeal or not.

* * *

"I call upon these persons here present, to witness that I, Clive St John Reader, do take thee, Martha Rose Costello, to be my lawful wedded wife."

Clive glances at Alan, who is filling in for both best man and father of the bride. Billy's death two months earlier had made Clive realise what was important in life. Not career, not being successful, because what did all that matter if you couldn't be with the person you loved? He'd proposed to Martha at the wake, and she'd accepted on the conditions that she kept her own name and there was no mention of God in the service.

Alan holds out the two silver rings. Clive takes one and slides it onto Martha's finger as she beams at him, looking radiant in a cream-gold dress. "I give you this ring..." Clive repeats after the registrar, trying not to trip over his words.

When it comes to Martha's turn, she looks him in the eyes and echoes without a tremour: "I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Martha Rose Costello, do take thee, Clive St John Reader, to be my lawful wedded husband."

Rings exchanged and vows completed, the registrar pronounces them man and wife. They kiss so fiercely that Alan clears his throat and they break apart, smiling around at the handful of guests, including Jake, Bethany and CW.

"It's about time, Mrs Reader," Clive murmurs.

"Ms Costello to you."

* * *

_Dear Mr Reader_

_Thank you for your application for a twelve month pupillage and congratulations on making it to the interview stage. We have considered your application carefully and regret to inform you that on this occasion you have not been successful. We wish you the very best of luck with your future career._

_Yours sincerely_

_Alan Cowdrey_

_Head of Chambers_

Clive sighs and puts the letter down, on the top of his 'rejection' pile. He had had high hopes for that one, with it being a fairly new chambers. He wonders which of the other applicants has secured a pupillage in his place. The one from Eton probably, or maybe that blonde girl, what was her name? Marnie? Marsha?

He abandons the pile of rejections and goes to put the kettle on, shrugging off his sense of disappointment. There would be other opportunities.


End file.
